Matthew 5:14-16; Isaiah 58:6-9
To See the Stars, Darkness is Necessary
Two
weeks ago there was a congregational meeting where you heard our yearly
statistical report. This is a form our clerk and treasurer faithfully fill out
each year and send to the Presbytery of the James. Someone in Richmond notes
the form has been completed and forwards the results to the main office of the
Presbyterian Church. In Louisville another person compiles approximately 9,900
forms, one from each church, and places the numbers in a form made public to
anyone interested. Each form is secured in a vault where it remains safely
guarded until the Second Coming. That piece of paper defines who we are in
terms of membership and financial giving. Our numbers are good. Numerically, we
are the second largest church in our Presbytery not located in Richmond,
Charlottesville, or Fredericksburg. Our mission giving exceeds churches three and
four times larger than us. Our budget compares with churches twice our size. The
Presbytery has reviewed our statistical report and declared us to be a healthy,
relevant congregation. But does a little
piece of paper actually define who we are?
One day Jesus went
into the hills to have a conversation with his disciples. The thirteen men did
not go alone. Many folks from surrounding communities followed. This created an
interesting situation. Jesus spoke intimately with his disciples. Being soft
spoken, his words didn’t carry very far. When the disciples heard “You are the
light of the world”, they knew Jesus was speaking directly to them. They also
knew Jesus desired the crowd behind them to become the recipients of that
light.
Some churches clamor
to be defined by numbers in worship and dollars in the plate. But how many churches
are willing to become a light to their community?
The
scary truth is if insanity is defined as doing the same thing over and over and
over again then a whole lot of churches should be committed. On my recent trip
to The United Kingdom I noticed the ritual of worship hasn’t changed very much since
Henry VIII was king. That is wonderful if you are 80 and have recited The Apostle’s Creed and sang Blessed Assurance since before your
tenth birthday. The creeds, old songs, even scripture can become a sacrament to
the familiar with little meaning, no challenge, and hardly any possibility of
granting assurance to someone who
stands in darkness. People ask, “Why
don’t young people go to church anymore?” It might be few churches offer anything
unique to brighten their darkness.
But
there is good news. If there ever was a place which can claim to be a light in
the midst of darkness it might be Rockfish. Wednesday morning I received
multiple phone calls from strangers. The first made me aware that folks
actually do read the Blue Ridge Life Magazine. A lady was calling about wood. I
don’t know if she had wood to share or needed wood to burn but it hardly
matters. I gave her Sam’s number and I celebrated we are known as the place
that delivers, “Compassion by the Cord.”
A
second call came from an unknown person who lives in our neighborhood. She was
curious if our cemetery lots were open to folks outside the congregation. I
gave her Diana Rockwell’s number and didn’t give the conversation a second
thought. Later that day I spotted Diana at the church with the woman with whom
I had spoken earlier. Her mother is dying. Diana took time to calm the woman by
assuring her we would provide a final resting place and words of comfort when
the time was appropriate. Once again, in the midst of darkness, this church
provided light.
A
third call resumed a conversation started over a year ago. We have an on-going
relationship with Head Start. Through food and parties we are in touch with
many of the Head Start families. Back in
2018 we offered some space for a Head Start office but nothing developed. This
week those negotiations will start again. Why our church? I was given two
reasons. We are close to the elementary school and the Head Start kids think
Rockfish Presbyterian is where Santa Claus lives.
What
do we get out of delivering wood, opening up our cemetery, and offering occasional
office space? Another tube of Ben Gay, another burial of someone we don’t know,
and a few more kids to eat cookies at the Christmas Party. If you think that is
a pretty low rationale for being a light in this valley, consider these words
by Annie Dillard. “To see the stars,
darkness is necessary.”
Darkness comes in many
forms. In a painful song John Prine observes, “There are a lot of folks are
sitting just inside their door waiting for someone to say hello.” Dropping by
without notice to visit someone you hardly know seems a bit irregular, almost
presumptuous. A ministerial mentor of
mine once observed, “If you call ahead you will end up spending a lot of time
in your office. Sometimes people just don’t know how lonely they are.”
Darkness
comes in the midst of illness or death. Few of us worked in the medical field
and the last time I checked, none of us are God. What can we offer a family is
overwhelmed by cancer or heart disease? You might be surprised. I have observed
folks have a hard time asking for help. Yet it is nice to have a meal in the
freezer or a friend helping with that drive to Charlottesville.
Darkness
comes from anger. If you haven’t noticed the world is a pretty irritated place
right now. Taking sides and putting swords in the sand have become a regular
response to that anger. Most second and fourth Sundays some pretty brave folks
gather at the Brewing Tree to have a conversation. We hardly agree on anything.
Truth is the only thing we agree on is when someone is speaking, the rest of us
not only have to listen, we have to acknowledge the person’s right to hold a
dissenting view. One of the reasons I love preaching is it is a monologue. Not
much light to be found unless you agree with me. At the Brewing Tree we engage
in a healthy, respectful dialogue. It could be the alcohol, but I think
something good is happening there.
Darkness
comes from not being recognized. I keep coming back to the question, “Where are
the kids on Sunday morning?” You might not believe how many young folks claim
this to be their church. We know they come when the children’s food baskets need
to be filled. But where are they the rest of the time? You might be
surprised. They are learning about and
working toward sustaining the earth. They are putting together relief baskets
for refugee families. They are caring for abused animals. They are leaders in
their schools. And yes, they are probably sleeping in on Sunday Morning. Have
you ever consider they might be a light in our darkness? Have you ever imagined
they are patiently waiting to be asked teach to us how to do some new things?
They celebrate the love and vision of God in ways that leave us clueless. They
can’t recite a creed and probably never learned Blessed Assurance, but when in
their midst I am overwhelmed by their energy and joy.
The
truth is it is fairly easy to recognize that folks in pain, folks who are
lonely, and especially folks who have turned a deaf ear to others, are immersed
in darkness. It is a lot harder to recognize my own shadows. Cemented in a routine solidified by ancient
customs and rituals, sometimes I slide down the hill and find comfort among the
crowd. When I look up, I see Jesus
standing on a rock. His lips are moving but I can’t understand his words. I turn
to a child and cry out, “What’s he saying?”
“He is paraphrasing Isaiah 58. You are a light
to the world when you break bread with the hungry, clothe the naked, house the
homeless, and care for my earth.”
Then child starts
walking down the hill.
“Where
are you going? I can’t hear his words.”
The
child responds, “I am going to be a light to someone. Care to join me?”
To
God be the Glory. Amen.
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